


Only Tonight

by JustJasper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bull, Bottom Dorian, Come Swallowing, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Trespasser, Reunion Sex, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6072027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five months apart is cruel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [Dichotomous_Dragon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/pseuds/Dichotomous_Dragon) for betaing!

**“Sex exists in the now without past or future. If, for a single second, your minds drifts back to the past or forwards into the unknown, the moment withers like a dead plant and the passage of pleasure turns to a road of dust.” - Chloe Thurlow**

The Iron Bull hasn't kissed Dorian Pavus for almost five months. The Bull hasn't kissed anyone _but_ Dorian for almost four years, except for that one night where they both kissed Blackwall after he lost a bet and Sera was allowed to pick the forfeit. The Bull smiles at the memory of Blackwall's drunken nonchalance and mild complaints about _their_ scratchy facial hair, Dorian's grumbled threats of vengeance against Sera as he brushes his fingertips over his mouth, nearly bruised from what was more the awkward smashing of Blackwall's tightly-closed lips to his than an actual kiss.

Dorian's late, and the Bull's sending crystal at his neck is quiet, which is either a good sign, or a really shit one. It wouldn't be the first time either of them has run into trouble on the road, and Dorian's probably not even travelling with an escort. There's talk of bandits on the roads leading into town, and if Dorian's distracted hurrying to him—

The Bull hears the still familiar fall of Dorian's feet outside the door, seconds before the rap of a staff against the wood. He's up out of the chair before he knows it, all plans for casual gone as his heart does leaps in his chest.

“Come in.”

Dorian sighs as he opens the door, slips into the room and shuts them away together, alone at last.

“Shit, Dorian, you're a sight.”

“Why, thank you,” Dorian says, grin already spreading over his face. He looks good – maybe a little softer, his hair long enough to pull back into a bun at the back of his head, his moustache familiar, the stubble on the rest of his jaw less so, but still Dorian, _here_.

He wastes no time, propping his staff against the wall and dropping his pack, crosses the space to where the Bull is standing and leaning up onto his toes so he can throw his arms around the Bull's neck.

“Hello, amatus.”

The Bull kisses Dorian, and for a few seconds that make his chest ache, it's strange and unfamiliar; then remembered all at once as they shift into each other's bodies, mouths and tongues and hands gentle against each other. Knowing he might forget what this feels like, what Dorian feels, like is something the Bull pushes down for a darker day as he wraps his arms around Dorian's back.

“How was your trip?” he asks, and Dorian hums as he drops his hand to begin unbuckling the Bull's harness.

“Uneventful, mostly. I took a detour this morning to avoid the highway. Bandits, apparently. Did I worry you?”

“Nah.” They both know it's a lie, of course.

They're not strangers in each other's lives – they talk with the sending crystals near enough every day, sometimes for a few moments to check in, sometimes for hours on end. But it's different to hear Dorian's voice with perfect clarity, to see him, to puts his hands on him, kiss him. Five months without him is fucking cruel.

They undress without ceremony, clothes folded haphazardly over a chair so they can reach each other's skin, save for the matching dragon teeth, which are placed carefully on the night stand.

Dorian is practically bronze from the Tevinter summer, and the paler parts help the Bull determine what the current fashion is in Tevinter, because Dorian can't seem to help being a trendsetter; sandals, bare arms, cuffs worn high on the forearm. The Bull kisses one of Dorian's bare shoulders, presses his fingers against the short shaved hair at the base of his skull. Dorian shudders against the touch, lets out a low moan that shudders all the way through him.

“Bed, amatus,” he says, and as much as the Bull misses their games, he's not going to play tonight. He backs up to the bed and climbs on, smiles as Dorian chuckles at his lack of grace and follows.

“C'mere.”

Dorian climbs into his lap, lays across his stomach and kisses him, presses his stirring cock against the swell of the Bull's belly.

“You look thin,” Dorian says, kissing the Bull's jaw. He's probably a bit more trim than the last time Dorian saw him, sure, but he's not thin. Still makes his heart go a bit mad that Dorian notices the change. “You're working too hard.”

“Just busy, kadan.”

Dorian kisses down the Bull's throat and his chest, down to his belly, sighs and puts lingering kisses over the swell as he reaches for the Bull's cock.

“Don't want you to waste away.”

Dorian wraps his fingers around the Bull's length, considers his size, the shape of him. It's been so long since it wasn't his own hand, but soon enough Dorian's strong, calloused hands are familiar again, and he remembers just what makes the Bull hot.

“Kaffas, I'd almost forgotten how big you are.”

The Bull laughs. “Don't you have anything my size back in Tevinter?”

“What, like a chair leg?”

“Hey, if it works.”

“Ah, but the splinters, Bull!”

Dorian pinches the spongy head of the Bull's cock between his fingers, and the Bull sucks in a breath; forgot, in all their time apart, how that's one of Dorian's favourite tricks, walking the line of pleasure-pain, that teasing smirk on his face.

“I've managed well enough without, I suppose,” Dorian says. “As you well know.”

“Yeah. Listening to you finger yourself while you pretend it's me is definitely hot.”

“And I have quite a good imagination, especially when you're so encouraging.” Dorian smiles, and shit, it's sad at the edges. “It almost makes the distance bearable.”

The Bull is still thinking about Dorian's moan, the way his body shuddered at such a small touch, how he knows he's five months with nothing but his own hand, too.

“You don't have to imagine, if you don't want to.”

“Hm?”

They haven't talked about it, not any more than a joke. _Do make sure you have some sordid tales of your conquests to tell me when we meet again, amatus._

“If you found a guy who could make you feel good, you wouldn't need to imagine me.”

“Bull.” Dorian frowns, hand gone loose around the Bull's cock. “I'm not so insatiable that I can't wait for you.”

“I know, but you don't have to.”

Dorian considers him, catches his bottom lip between his teeth. His brow furrows minutely, and he pinches the Bull's cock again, hard enough to make the Bull hiss with pain.

“The thing is,” Dorian says matter of factly, eyes skimming down the Bull's body to fall on where he twists his fingers around his increasingly sensitive cock head. He presses a hand down on the Bull's hip to still his squirming, “despite the lonely nights, and the inadequacy of my own fingers compared to your frankly grotesquely large cock...”

He swallows. Looks briefly at the Bull's face, before his gaze falls away again. Like the times when words like _kadan_ and _amatus_ and _stay_ were new, when they were both unsure of what this could be.

“I want to wait for you. If you've found others in our time apart, I've no qualms about that, though I would like to hear about them. But I'd rather miss you than substitute you.”

The Bull could have fucked dozens of people on the road in the last months. Could have given the nod to the Chargers that have asked about the state of his long standing open tent policy.

“Sorry kadan, there's nothing to tell. I've been waiting for you, too.”

“Oh.” Dorian exhales. “Oh.” Again, breathless, grinning, tipping forward over the Bull's body to kiss him, laughing against his jaw. “Aren't we fools, amatus?”

“Yeah, I reckon we are.”

Dorian is still smiling as he kisses down the Bull's chest again, down to where his cock is hard, laps at the dribble of precome on his belly, takes the head into his mouth and winds his tongue around gently, soothing where he twisted and pinched. He moans, spreads his hands in the warm meet of hip and thigh, his breath hot against the Bull's flesh as he presses there and just breathes.

“Oh, how I missed your smell. I'd forgotten. It won't do to forget...”

The Bull slips his fingers gently through Dorian's hair, cradles his head with no intent as Dorian licks slow, luxurious stripes up his cock. He follows the prominent vein downward with his tongue, hums with amusement as he goes lower, mouths at the Bull's balls.

He's so noisy, appreciative sounds around the size of the Bull as he takes him into his mouth, hollows his cheeks and sucks him into the warm wetness. The Bull grunts, digs his heels into the mattress. They only have the night, but Dorian doesn't rush, lets his lips slide slowly up the Bull's length, worries the head with the tip of his tongue. Holds the Bull at the base, skims his thumb over the vein while the other hand wanders across the Bull's thigh, belly, the jut of bone amongst the softness of his hips. He takes hold, worries the fat gently in his grasp.

“See, I'm not wasting away,” the Bull says as he strokes his fingers down Dorian's neck, down as Dorian slides his mouth up his cock. Dorian hums, presses back down and swallows, pushes past his gag reflex to take the Bull into his throat. “Fuck!”

Dorian gags and the Bull is ready to coax him off, but Dorian pulls back, takes a breath, and goes again, slower and more controlled, moves so it's easier for the Bull to slide a little way into his throat. Familiar, almost easy, and Dorian groans loudly and swallows around him.

It's the wrong position for Dorian to take all of the Bull's cock down, but it's clear Dorian wants to keep touching him more than he wants to swallow his cock. Rolling his balls in his hand and touching the fat of the Bull's hips and belly, taking the Bull's cock shallowly into his throat, and it's enough. More than enough, almost too much, that Dorian is so enthralled by the task at hand.

Dorian pulls back, a string of spit between his swollen mouth and the Bull's cock head. Dorian waggles his jaw so it falls away, uses his thumb to spread it down the Bull's cock.

“I'd have you come in my mouth, amatus.”

“Yeah, Dorian, yeah.”

Dorian strokes him with both hands then, way wetted by his own mouth, pushes the Bull's foreskin forwards and backwards over the edge of his glans over and over, laps at the tip. The Bull grips the sheets of the bed and knocks the headboard with his horns, takes his eyes from Dorian for only a moment when it's almost too good, almost too sensitive.

“Dorian,” the Bull groans, an alert, rather than a warning, hips straining upwards.

“In my mouth, then,” he says, and parts his lips, sticks out his tongue.

The first stripe of come lands mostly on target, a little over Dorian's top lip and into his moustache. The Bull shouts, dissolves into grunts as Dorian jerks him, holds him so his come spurts over his tongue and teeth in his waiting mouth, his own low moan from the back of his throat.

As Dorian squeezes the last of it from the Bull's cock, he runs his tongue over his teeth, swallows, and smacks his lips, satisfied.

“I love you,” the Bull says, grinning as he wipes the back of his wrist over his sweating brow.

“Of course you do, I'm a delight.”

The Bull coaxes Dorian up his body, kisses him fully on the mouth. Dorian strains his hips against him, achingly hard, fingers digging into his chest.

“What next?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Dorian says, punctuates it with a kiss. “And I want to fuck you.”

“Anything you want.”

The Bull goes for oil from his pack, simple stuff, but bought new for the occasion. He sees Dorian smirk, but doesn't mention the ceremony with which he presents the bottle.

“I'm going to—” Dorian wiggles his fingers, and the Bull fills in the blanks, nods his understanding.

That was one of the things about fucking a mage that had him equal parts impressed and weirded out: the mundane sex spells for lube and cleaning. He's not big on them, but in a pinch they'll do, and Dorian can do whatever he likes with his own body anyway.

The Bull passes the bottle of oil between his hand as Dorian plants one foot on the bed, reaches under himself and goes still for a few seconds.

“There. Not that I was in any particular state of filth, I'd like to have it known. Only I rode without pause to reach you, and a bath seems a waste of our time.”

“Do me, too,” the Bull says as he parts his legs, tilts his hips up.

“Really?”

“Hey, if there was a tub in this room I'd fuck you in it, but no luck.”

Dorian hums, climbs back on the bed and presses his fingers gently to the Bull's hole. The spell is just a tingle, and afterwards Dorian doesn't move his hand. Presses his finger down against the Bull's hole instead, teasing it.

“I can't wait to be inside you, Bull.”

“You want to fuck me first?”

“Perhaps if we were both prepared, we could simply fuck, with no mind for the order.”

“Shit, kadan, you have such good ideas.”

Dorian takes the oil, and Bull lies back. There's magic for this too; sometimes the Bull will let Dorian grease his palm with magical slick. But the magic that could contort his body, stretch him out makes the Bull feel a bit sick, really. _It's a more complicated spell, and doesn't always take. Sometimes bed partners have no patience_ , Dorian had said; the Bull had wanted to burn Tevinter to the ground for it.

This part is too important to skip over, and Dorian is so good at it. He slides one finger in, his thick middle digit, and the Bull groans. Dorian smooths his hand down the inside of his thigh, smiles at him. He's fucking beautiful when he smiles like that.

Dorian is a tease, and avoids the Bull's prostate until he's got three fingers in him, and then presses on it hard.

“Kaffas, I've missed you like this.”

The Bull laughs, takes the oil up and wets two of his fingers. He can make this angle work.

“You think about fucking me a lot?”

He leans up and reaches under Dorian, who moves to accommodate him, and finds his hole with a slick finger. Slides it inside, slow and smooth as Dorian does the same with his three.

“Yes,” Dorian says, grinding down. “My hands aren't quite the same as what it feels like to be inside you. If I sit astride a pillow, it's a poor approximation of one of your great thighs between mine.”

The Bull pushes a second finger into Dorian, curls them and taps his prostate. Dorian mirrors the action, and they both pant and moan, rocking into each other. By the time they're three for three, the Bull is hard again.

“Lay back, kadan,” he says. He pours oil into his hand and then smothers it over Dorian's length. He ignores his knee's protest as he straddles Dorian, sinks onto his waiting cock.

“Bull!” Dorian gasps, grabs for the Bull's thighs.

The Bull presses down, lets his full weight rest on Dorian, which has him groaning and swearing in Tevene. He rolls his hips, careful when he lifts them so Dorian doesn't slip out, that he doesn't upset the slow rhythm that has Dorian clutching the meat of his thighs. The Bull's cock rubs along Dorian's stomach, smearing precome across the brown skin.

“Fuck yourself on me properly, Bull,” Dorian commands, the imperiousness of the tone somewhat undermined by the wild, hungry look in his eyes.

The Bull laughs, tips himself forward, and braces one huge hand on each side of Dorian's chest, curves his fingers around his shoulders, and uses that as leverage. He knows how much Dorian likes to feel the size of him, his weight, and the angle is just right to make Dorian's cock slide in a force indirect pressure against the bundle of nerves in him.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, Dorian,” he gasps, as Dorian thrusts as best he can in counter to the Bull, snapping his hips up against him. The Bull squeezes himself around Dorian's cock, and that sets Dorian gasping.

“You cheat! Kaffas, you cheat!”

Dorian comes inside of the Bull, grabs for his backside and holds on as he presses his hips up and the Bull grinds down, rolls his hips and squeezes him through his orgasm. Dorian thrashes a little towards the end, swearing as he shakes his head in the pillows.

“Mm, you filled me up good, kadan,” the Bull says, sits up and rolls his shoulders. He gives his cock a few lazy tugs, and Dorian peers that him from under heavily lidded eyes.

“Need a minute? Or should I fuck you hard again?”

“Oh, yes, do.”

The Bull climbs off Dorian and slicks his fingers again. He presses two into Dorian's hole, then three. His generously-slicked cock next, and kneels between Dorian's waiting, willingly parted legs, and slides himself inside. He's huge, and Dorian hasn't taken him for almost half and year, and it's slow going. Dorian gasps, clutching at the Bull's arms, and the Bull listens for anything that even verges on pain.

“You're going to drag it out, aren't you?” Dorian huffs, but there's no real complaint in it as the Bull presses forward slowly, and pulls almost all the way out. He fucks him in slow, shallow thrusts, inch by wide inch pressing into him. Their breaths almost in sync, a heartbeat out of time, and by the time he has half of his cock inside, Dorian is gasping and getting hard again.

The Bull lowers himself to his elbows, closing the space between them, and licks into Dorian's mouth. Dorian responds fiercely, deepens the kiss almost immediately, holds the Bull too him as he presses the heels of his feet against the backs of his thighs, urging him deeper.

“Kadan, look at you,” he murmurs, as his presses himself flush, his balls heavy against Dorian's backside. “It's been so long, and you still take me so well. You're just as perfect as I remember.”

“You'd be hard pressed to forget such perfection,” Dorian mutters, lips at the Bull's jaw.

“Yeah, but it's good to have the reminder.”

He fucks Dorian slowly, with long strokes that tease his hole with the head of his cock before pushing in again and stretching deep inside him. Dorian gasps, pants against the Bull's cheek and murmurs.

“Yes, Bull. Fuck me, fuck me.”

The Bull makes Dorian come first, no hand spared for his cock; his favourite trick, making Dorian spend himself all over his own chest just from fucking him, watching Dorian swear his way through an intense orgasm. The Bull holds Dorian's wrists gently to the pillows so he can't reach down and touch himself as he spills, groaning against the Bull's mouth.

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” he mutters, when his cock is only twitching weakly, and the Bull releases his wrists. “Come inside me, amatus. I want to be absolutely full of your seed by morning.”

“Fuck,” the Bull grunts, because Dorian's filthy mouth has a direct line to his cock.

“You can fill me, and I'll fill you, and we'll leave carrying each other's very essence with us.”

“Dorian,” the Bull says on a breath, fucks into him hard, buries his face in his neck and empties himself deep inside him.

They breathe, and place gentle kisses on the parts of each other they can reach; jaw, cheek, mouth, neck. When the Bull makes to withdraw and move away, Dorian wraps his arms around his neck and pulls him close. After the greedy rush to have each other, to have everything they've missed, there's a little bit of time for quiet.

“Stay, amatus. We only have tonight, and I'd have you all night.”

The Bull shifts them, rolls onto his back, pulls Dorian with him to drape over him, mindful of his horns. Dorian hums contently as they settle, happy enough ignoring the sticky mess they've made of each other. They'll probably only add to it after they've had a little time to recover; after all, they only have one night before Dorian has to return to Tevinter, and the Bull has to head to meet back up with the Chargers.

“Sounds good, kadan.”

 **“** **'For a while' is a phrase whose length can't be measured. At least by the person who's waiting.” - Haruki Murakami**


End file.
